Chapter 9:
A week had gone by since Hogan's death, and the atmosphere in barracks two was nothing but gloom and lifeless. None of them felt like exercising, had the energy to drive the guards nuts, or in the mood to crack jokes and give each other witty comments. And except for the many men Hanley had managed to win over, almost everybody in Stalag 13 was affected by Hogan's loss. Roll calls were short and silent, many of Hogan's men walked around like zombies, but most of all, it had hit the colonel's friends to the point it was impossible to stand back up again.
Missions and assignments were currently transferred over to the underground, games of gin had gone extinct, and laughter and joy was as dead as their commanding officer and best friend. And while Kinch tried to pry London for more information on this mysterious Hanley person, the little unit of five had made it their ultimate goal to locate the bastard and make him pay severely for the crime he had committed. The act that had emotionally scarred them for life. The biggest loss that had crippled their hearts to the point that they could not function properly. But unfortunately for Hogan's team, Hanley had gone completely MIA. They couldn't find him, Klink's men couldn't find him, not even the Gestapo could find him. And the longer he was missing, the greater the fear of another death happening rose in all of them.
As Kinch sat in the radio room waiting for General Berkman to message him back, LeBeau hovered over the stove making some sort of baked good, Carter and Newkirk were in the midst of a game of 'Go Fish', and Kalina hugged Hogan's bomber jacket, taking in his scent of cologne and after shave to commit his smell to memory. The only thing that they had been given back to remember their beloved friend by. The thing the boys had given the little teenager so she felt she still had her second papa in some type of form.
After so much grieving and the many days she had gone without sleeping, little Kalina had finally grown too tired to grieve anymore. She hugged Hogan's jacket close for warmth, lay her head on top of it like a pillow, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep that she desperately needed.
"You got a three?" Carter asked, scanning his hand to see what he still needed.
"Go fish," Newkirk answered. "Got any queens?"
Carter slid a queen of clubs over to the corporal, who took the match and lay it on his growing pile.
"Got a nine?" Newkirk asked.
Carter shook his head. "Go fish."
Newkirk grabbed a pile from the deck and frowned with agitation as he saw a three of spades staring back at him. "Blimey," he growled. "I thought I just got rid of yah, now you show up in a different suit. Charming."
"Could be worse," LeBeau said. "You could still have the same cards you started with and not have a single match yet."
"Well, I better get a few more here, or Andrew's gonna make me drown in the ruddy pond."
"You can't win them all, buddy," Carter said. "Even the great Peter Newkirk has a few downfalls…You got any sevens?"
Newkirk turned his head to the right as he threw a seven of hearts over to his friend.
As Carter opened his mouth to ask for another card, the fake bunk opened, and Kinch climbed into the barracks, greeted with the three of his friends holding a pointer finger to their lips and gesturing to sleeping little Kalina. The radioman nodded to acknowledge, then walked towards where Newkirk sat, pulling out a sheet of notepad paper from his jacket pocket.
"Just got back the information on this Hanley guy from Berkman," he reported, handing the paper over to Newkirk. "None of it is good."
The English corporal looked down at the information and began to read everything out loud. "US Army Air Force Colonel Leonard Hanley. Original physical description being 6'1", black hair, amber brown eyes, and thin build. Born in 1903; from Casper, Wyoming; graduated from University of Florida with a degree in psychology; and was promoted to colonel in 1942."
"Sounds pretty normal to me," Carter said. "What's wrong with any of that?"
"Believe me. What comes next is horrifying." Kinch replied, stuffing his hands into his pants pockets.
"What does it say, Pierre?" LeBeau asked, joining the three of them.
Newkirk looked back down at the paper and continued reading. "Shot down over Bonn, Germany on November 27th and immediately taken into Gestapo custody with one of his men. Forced to watch said man die from endless torture and tortured himself to the point of insanity. Extent of torture methods currently unknown. Escaped from custody by slipping a knife out of the Gestapo guard's pocket, stabbed him to death from behind, then grabbed the cell keys and unlocked himself. Stole Gestapo uniform to put on himself and fled before anyone could catch him."
"He murdered a Gestapo soldier?" Carter gasped, his eyes widening to the size of saucers.
"Sacrés chats," LeBeau said.
"Does he realize how much trouble he'll be in if the Gestapo catches him?"
"I'm afraid trouble's already arrived, guys," Kinch said. "After fleeing from Gestapo Headquarters in Bonn, Hanley met a plastic surgeon a little ways away from Koblenz and went under complete facial construction to eliminate the risk of being recaptured. Hanley looks nothing like the way he used to…and I think I know what he looks like currently…who he looks like."
The color from Newkirk, Carter, and LeBeau's faces had drained entirely. Their eyes as wide as dinner plates, almost at risk of rolling out of their heads. It hit them. Like a train going 75 miles an hour. The realization was so clear that it sent chills up and down all their spines. Hogan's murderer had been identified. And in the most frightening way possible.
"Bloody hell," Newkirk said, trying to come out of his shock.
"Colonel Hogan's doppelganger," Carter spoke. "He's…"
"Dis-moi que je fais un cauchemar." LeBeau added, putting a hand to his face. (1)
"What do we do?" Carter asked Kinch. "Hanley could be anywhere in this area. He could still be in camp."
"And Colonel Hogan's dead, on top of it," Newkirk said.
"We've gotta find that guy and knock him off before he tries killing someone else," Kinch replied, putting his hand to his chin to think, while Kalina's eyes began to flutter and slowly woke up. She hugged Hogan's jacket a smidge tighter as she raised her head and turned her blurry gaze to her friends until her vision settled in.
"But how do we find him?" Carter asked.
"If that man's got a degree in psychology, he'll be able to play just about anybody he tries to," Newkirk said.
Kalina blinked her eyes a few times, trying to understand who and what they were talking about. "Kinch," she croaked, her throat still waking up, as well.
The four men turned to her, and Newkirk came to her side, kneeling to Kalina's left. "How you feeling, little mate?" He asked, rubbing her back.
"Did you get some needed sleep, kiddo?" Kinch added.
Kalina nodded groggy. "Yeah…nothing but black, though. Everything was dark."
"Sometimes that's better than having any sort of dream," Newkirk told her. "Give your mind a chance to recover from everything."
The little teenager softly shook her head, hugging Hogan's jacket tight again. "I don't think I'll ever recover from losing Colonel Hogan. I don't think I'll ever be able to stop missing him and crying when I think of him."
"It's gonna take time for all of us, kiddo," Kinch said. "Colonel Hogan was the best colonel on Earth. No one will ever be able to take his place. It'll get easier, though. Might take a little time, but that's alright. We don't need to rush anything."
"We'll always miss Colonel Hogan, ma petite," LeBeau added. "Missing him will never go away, but it will get easier to manage it."
Kalina nodded again, tears streaming down her face as she thought of the warm, kindhearted man that became her second papa. The man she would never get to hug, see, or talk to again. She wiped them away using one of the sleeves of Hogan's jacket, then sniffled as she returned her gaze to Kinch, Newkirk resuming to rub her back.
"Kinch," she said, meek. "Who are you talking about? Find who?"
The staff sergeant opened his mouth to speak, when the sound of marching and orders being barked reached all of their ears. Curious, the group of five all gathered at the door, and Kinch opened it enough for all of them to see what the culprit of the sounds were. What they saw made them freeze in place, blood draining from their faces as their eyes widened in horror.
"Oh my God," Newkirk said, stretching each word out as he spoke.
They watched as men in Gestapo-like uniforms pointed rifles at Klink's guards as they marched their way to the cooler. Others in the same uniform were scattered all over camp like several flocks of geese. Four stood at the gate entrance, two stood outside on the kommandantur's porch, and almost 100 of them marching and walking around camp with rifles and guns at the ready. Two were even invading the guard tower and taking over for the previous German guards currently being marched off to the cooler.
"Holy cats," Carter gasped. "The Gestapo's taken over Stalag 13."
Kinch shook his head, his eyes unable to turn away from the sight before them. "That isn't Gestapo, Andrew. It's worse than that."
"I don't know how anyone can be worse than the bloody Gestapo," Newkirk commented.
"Look at their faces. Their uniforms," the sergeant ordered his second-in-command.
The rest of Hogan's group tediously observed the men in Gestapo uniforms, and the air was sucked out of their lungs when they recognized several of the men participating in this. They knew these guys. Fellow American flyers that had once been their friends now marching and singing some sort of military march as they moseyed on with their responsibilities. All of the men dressed in black were American POWs, but the ones who had been won over to Hanley's side. A rogue military group and an enemy to their own country.
As for the uniforms themselves, the combination of both German and American officer uniforms in one was a nightmare of its own. Their jackets were Gestapo, but the uniform, shoes, and hats were American. Black pants, shoes, suits and ties, all of it belonging to the United States Navy and their officer uniforms. The Navy officer cap on their heads was just the finishing touch.
The armbands around their jackets remained red, black, and white, but the swastika symbol had been removed and placed with a new one. The United States Army Air Force insignia in black and plastered to the white circle. Gestapo uniforms with American adjustments. American Gestapo. American Nazis. Hanley's plan from the minute he had stepped into Stalag 13.
"That, that, that's our guys. That's a bunch of our American comrades marching out there," Carter said. "Dressed as the Gestapo."
LeBeau and Kalina stood flabbergasted as they watched one of Hanley's men climb onto the roof of Klink's office and tear down the Nazi Germany flag before chucking it onto the ground. It was soon replaced with the American Nazi logo that was their uniforms' armbands and flapped furiously in the wind.
"I do not know if I am more relieved or terrified that they tore down the bosche's flag," LeBeau said, not able to turn his eyes away from the sight.
"Kinch, what the hell is this?" Newkirk asked, holding Kalina as tight as he could.
"Hell, Newkirk," Kinch said. "This is Hell."
Klink sat at his desk working on paperwork, completely oblivious to what was currently going on outside. He was so zoned out into his work that he could hardly notice his nearby surroundings. He was flipping through a legal document, when the door to his office slammed open, and Hanley, dressed in his new uniform, stormed inside with four other members of his army. All five of them with pistols directly positioned at Klink's head.
The kommandant jumped at the sudden noise, then shot to his feet as he saw the five men in black standing before him, the one in the center frightening him most of all. "Hogan," he gasped. "I thought, you're su, how did you…"
"Colonel Hogan's dead, Klink," Hanley said firmly. "I'm Hogan, now. And as Colonel Robert Hogan, I order you to vacate this office and turn over command to me effectively now."
"Ha!" Klink laughed. "Give command over to a prisoner. That's a riot."
"You've got about three seconds to do as I say, or I'll have a hundred bullets go through your body."
"Oh really," Klink remarked. "Then you won't mind if I call some of my guards in here to escort you to the cooler."
Hanley scoffed. "You're tough out of luck on that one, Kraut. All of your guards are being held prisoner in the very cooler you speak of. They try one move to escape, and they'll be shot so fast they won't have a chance to blink…Except for those idiots Schultz and Langenscheidt. They're so stupid, the worse they suffered were confiscation of their weapons. They remain free, but under intense observation."
"You locked my men up as prisoners?" The kommandant gasped. "In their own camp?"
"Look outside that window, Klink," Hanley said. "What do you see?"
Klink eyed the American carefully before opening his window and looking out into the compound. When he saw the many American prisoners marching around in Gestapo-like uniforms and holding guns, Klink's jaw dropped from its hinges, his face quickly turning pale. Stalag 13 had been completely taken over by rogue American POWs. His guards were being held prisoners. His sergeant of the guard and head corporal had been stripped of all of their weapons. The kommandant was now a prisoner in his own camp. And he had no way of getting out of his office alive to call for help.
Hanley gave a low chuckle, a sly smile coming to his face. "The kommandant of Stalag 13 now a prisoner in his own camp. How's it feel to be on the other side of the fence, Klink?"
"Not on my watch," Klink said. He went to reach for his phone. "When Major Hochstetter hears about this, he'll have this entire camp surrounded until you surrender." He was about to pick up the receiver, when one of Hanley's men slammed it down onto the cradle and cut the cord, while another man cut the cord on Klink's private line.
"Just so much as even try to call Hochstetter for help, and you and your two dimwits all get bullets to the back of your heads." Hanley tightened the grip on his pistol, watching as his men stripped Klink of his issued pistol and positioned their firearms at the German to make him put his hands in the air.
"Now get out," Hanley ordered, his face void of any emotion. "I'm taking over command of Stalag 13 and this office as of now. Whether you live or not to do so doesn't matter to me."
Klink didn't move. His body violently shook as his frightened blue eyes scanned his entire office. One armed American was on his right, another on his left. Two more were in front of him, their rifles steady and ready to fire if deemed necessary. Then the most terrifying sight of all. Hogan's look alike, whoever the hell he was. His eyes brimmed with fire, his expression grueling and intimidating. Seeing Hogan in an evil form was more chilling than anything he could ever imagine.
Hogan. His deceased Senior POW and only friend. The man had been cocky and aggravating as hell, but he had been kind and warm. Never judgmental about anyone, always ready to help one of his men or Kalina at any given second. His heart had been more pure than fresh fallen snow. Goodness had radiated off of him like sunshine, and now he was gone. The only thing left of him was this demonic monster that looked exactly like him. Cold, dead, angry, Klink never thought there could be anyone more terrifying than his country's leader…but this man had just broken that record. And now did he not only fear Hogan's doppelganger, but he feared for his own life, too.
"I said GET OUT!" Hanley barked, moving his finger to his gun's trigger.
Seeing that the German colonel would need assistance in leaving the building, the two men on Klink's side grabbed him by the arms and threw him to the ground in the outer office. He was then yanked back up, taken to the kommandantur's porch, then thrown off onto the compound with a 'thud' as he let out a short yelp. Soon followed by his cap and riding crop, then Hanley's men went back inside the building and slammed the door shut.
Once he shook the cobwebs from his head, Klink put a hand to his temple and tried to figure out what had just happened. He placed his cap on his head once the dizziness had evaporated, then grabbed his riding crop, got to his feet, and brushed himself off as Schultz and Langenscheidt came to his side.
"Herr Kommandant, are you alright?" Langenscheidt asked. "That looked like a nasty fall."
"What is happening, Herr Kommandant? What are all of these prisoners walking around with rifles doing?" Schultz added.
Klink shook his head, unable to comprehend the situation himself. "I…I have no idea…Was I just actually thrown out of my own office?"
"What is going on, Herr Kommandant? Why are our guards being held prisoner in the cooler?" Langenscheidt questioned.
"Because I think we just became prisoners, Langenscheidt," Klink said, turning his gaze back to what used to be his office. "I'm a prisoner in my own camp."
"What are they doing now?" LeBeau asked, as he and the rest of his friends continued to watch Hanley's army. They were now getting into perfect formation, standing before the kommandantur's porch. None of them moved or said a single word, until Hanley came out followed by his two henchmen. The two henchmen walked down the steps and stood off on each side, while Hanley remained fixed and poised, his expression a complete blank.
"Looks like they're getting into some sort of formation," Carter said.
"For what, though? That's what I wanna know," Newkirk remarked.
One of Hanley's henchmen set down a record player with a speaker attached to it and dropped the needle on the spinning record. Music soon erupted from the compound, and all of Hanley's men began to sing their anthem to the melody, standing still and at attention the whole time.
The lyrics to their anthem were haunting. Almost as haunting as their military march. Calling themselves Imperial America, expressing a deep hate for all German people, and their determination to make the German race become extinct. Less descriptive as their march, but still chilling to the core as Hogan's team listened to the large group of Americans singing the song by memory.
"Bloody hell," Newkirk gasped, unable to move from his spot.
"So that's why he wanted Colonel Hogan out of the way," LeBeau said.
"He wants to take over Germany," Kinch told them.
"And eliminate the entire German race so they can declare a second America." Newkirk added.
Carter put a hand over his hanging mouth, rendered speechless at the Imperial American anthem and the gruesome things they were singing about exterminating an entire race of people. An entire country of people. It was an American version of Nazi Germany, and it was starting right in the middle of Stalag 13.
As the men tried to digest what was taking place before them, Kalina, whose arms were wrapped around Kinch's waist, felt a large lump in her throat forming as her vision blurred with hot tears. Hanley was gonna kill Hogan's men. He was gonna kill her. And her father, Schultz and Langenscheidt, too. He was going to kill everyone in her little family and those who didn't believe in his movement. The more terrified she grew, the more she desperately yearned for Hogan to come back and fix everything. To have him hold her close and tell her everything would be okay. God, how she missed him so.
Kalina began to cry, her grief for Hogan and for him to come back becoming too much for her heart to handle. She buried her face into Kinch's side and held him tight, slight comfort coming to her when the sergeant wrapped his arms around her and gently rubbed her arm.
Hanley's men reached the final line of their anthem, then all of them saluted the colonel simultaneously. Hanley returned the salute, and his eyes glimmered with a malicious joy that only a person with no soul could muster. His expression brightened as he looked at his army and began to laugh sadistically. Stalag 13 had officially become Imperial America's Headquarters, and it was just the beginning.
(1) Dis-moi que je fais un cauchemar - "Tell me I'm having a nightmare."